


Death in a Literary Mode

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [25]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 17:01:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When a threat to Newkirk, Maude and Marisol has everyone on edge, Davie Rhys, unofficial constable in the area, knew trouble was in store.  He'd lived here all his life, like his father and grandfather and far more had done.  He knew Haven, the Mistresses of Haven, had never looked at such with any tolerance; he knew the stories of that 'Far Hillside' where those who thought to take Haven lightly ended up, and he'd always thought the sharks off those cliffs looked uncommonly well-fed.  Still, he never expected the whole affair to take a literary turn.  Now, he looked around the room, at that body on the floor and frowned, trying to pinpoint what was teasing at the corner of his mind.  He knew something about the scene seemed familiar somehow, something he'd heard, maybe read.  Agatha Christie, one of her books, maybe.  He sighed, wondering just how he was supposed to write THIS up for his official report.





	Death in a Literary Mode

"He's saying WHAT??"

Peter and Marisol had just walked into the room, having just finished the brief walk to and from the kitchen garden they'd thought would be of benefit for Peter, just a slow stretching of the legs. He found it a bit embarrassing that on this, the third such trip in three days, he was still more than happy to get back to the house and a chair. {"Well, least I ain't gasping for breath like the first time, nor 'aving to let Marisol fetch a bench for me to take a rest on, 'alfway! Guess that's progress of a sort."} Though he'd been rather glad she'd left the bench there, just in case; it was good to know he COULD sit for a moment at the turn around point if he needed to - not that he planned to, mind, just in case.

"Something we need to know, luv?" Peter asked casually, with a warm smile. Caeide turned an anxious eye to the blacksmith and his wife, sitting with her and Maude around the table, replete with tea and scones.

"Nothing important. Go get washed up; we've company and there's tea and fresh scones, and I'll get the jam, you'll like the new batch I think, and we've the new cream cheese as well, just skimmed the top off, Maudie did," she told them with a bright smile.

Rattling on, she was, not like her. Peter and Mari took a long look at each other, and nodded and made their way to the kitchen sink, knowing Peter didn't need an extra trip up and down those stairs.

"There's trouble, Peter; she's just too perky, too chattery; it's not right, not Caeide," Marisol said with a firmness about her jaw she didn't usually have.

"I agree, all but slapped a gag on Elis and Mali before she hustled us out of there. Don't worry, we'll get it out of them; let's make fast work of this, now," and they got cleaned up and were back in the big room before Caeide was quite ready for them. She wasn't sure how to handle this.

"So, who's saying what, and no, Caeide, I'm not going to put the question to the side, so it's just as well they lay it out now," came from Peter, with a stern look she'd not seen since she was thirteen, when he'd snugged her reins more than a few times. She flushed a bit, surprised at how warm that look made her feel, at the memories it brought, at the sight of him being more himself again, and Elis took over. He agreed they all needed to hear this; yes, he understood Caeide's reluctance, but didn't think that would do any of them any good, not if Cadoc Alwyn came to call.

"Cadoc Alwyn," to the faint groan from Caeide; she'd really wanted to tell them herself, in her own way, though for the life of her she couldn't think of just such a way right at the moment. Elis gave her a reproving look, and she rolled her eyes and sighed and nodded in reluctant agreement.

"He's come back from the War, and he's making it clear he intends to take Haven, by way of Caeide. Says he'll have you three out of here right soon, by way of his fists if need be, and as for Caeide, well, he'll let his fist do his convincing there as well; he'll see to it that she'll be willing to get rid of you, AND stand up nice and quiet for the parson, and not daring to open her mouth for fear of getting it bashed right and proper, as should happen to any woman thinking to defy a man in his proper god-given role."

Marisol had gone white with anger; Peter had gone red in his rage, and shaking.

"Bloody minded bastard!" reaching for the slit in his trousers that held, as always, his pencil sharpener, as Mari added a few choice phrases of her own.

"Calm down, the pair of you," scolded Mali Tanner. "He's a blustering bully, yes, and certainly not above using his fists. But that's not the way to best him in this. Peter, forgive me, but you are not yet strong enough, not with your own fists, and you know that! Forewarned you need to be, and prepared to deal with him, but not being foolish in the matter," and she proceeded to give them a good description of the man they would be dealing with. 

"So what do we do?" Peter asked tiredly, the walk plus the adrenaline rush and its aftermath killing what little was left of his energy.

"We make sure to check before we open that front door, or the rear for that matter. We take care to have the revolvers and the radios with us at all times. We watch out for each other, just like we've always done," Maudie said firmly.

Caeide's face painted a different picture, and Peter was put in mind of someone else, someone who looked a lot like her but was even more fierce, a warrior, though what put that in his mind, he didn't quite know. He kept getting glimpses, memories, none of which could be real, but that seemed to linger at the corner of his mind. Something about him, her, and Andrew was involved somehow. Caeide spoke up, bringing his attention back to the present.

"We go nowhere alone, certainly nowhere away from Haven," unknowingly setting the pattern of behavior that persisted for many a year. "That means to the Vincent, to the station, anywhere. Especially to the station!" with a shudder, and they looked at her with the question open in their faces.

She raised one brow, "I was just thinking how easy it would be to cosh someone at the station and tuck them onto the train while supplies are being offloaded. They'd be in Cardiff or perhaps London before we knew, or before they came round; that is, provided they hadn't been coshed so hard as not to come around." Her face was hard, cold, and Peter decided he was glad not to be the one to put that look there.

"We notify the Clan, of course. And we put the word out about this locally, unless it's already common knowledge, Elis?"

The burly blacksmith shook his head, "no, I heard it from a friend who thought we ought to know, and heard just a bit down at the pub, but I don't think it's on the street and in the kitchens yet. And you're right, the more friendly ears out there listening, the better we'll be, and, truth be told, if he's this bloody minded, he could pose a threat to anyone who crosses him. The village needs to be aware of that, I think." 

"I remember him, of course, always a bully, always thinking too highly of himself. I thought his family had left, sold the land, though, before the War."

For her newly-come friends' benefit she explained, "the Alwyn's owned a small place on the far side of the village, far enough away they didn't come around very often, usually got their supplies and such from the village on the other side, which was closer to them; that is, when they didn't acquire them in some other, less direct manner, usually to the detriment of their neighbors. I was never at their place, heard it was a run down ramshackle affair even then, none in the family being so eager to put in the work needed to make it otherwise."

Mali nodded, "aye, and him much the same, thinking to get something for nothing, not wanting to pay the price, always trying to bull his way into getting it for less. And you're right, Caeide, his people sold out, moved off. Don't know what brought Cadoc back, unless Haven was his goal from the first," which didn't relieve anyone's mind.

In the end, it was decided to have Mali put the word out through the kitchen grapevine, that Elis would do a bit of gossiping, which he didn't usually, down at the pub, at the forge and stock pens and such. Davie Rhys acted as their Constable on the rare occasion one was needed, and was the liaison with the others in his position in the villages surrounding; Elis would talk to him, and Davie would spread the word that way. Could be Alwyn might be a danger to the other villages as well. They'd give that a few days, then regroup, see where they stood. Maybe the man was all talk, though no one was depending on that certainly.

Not for the first time Peter cursed his current weakness; Mali was right, of course, he was no match for Cadoc Alwyn when a slow walk to the garden and back took all he had to give. Still, he thought, some things didn't need strength so much as resolve, and eagerly held out his hand for the revolver Caeide passed to him, along with one for Marisol and Maude.

Maude took hers with a wry look, "hopefully I'll not be needing to use this; as Caeide can tell you, my sight isn't so good I should be trying this for any accuracy."

"Maude, he gets close enough you need to use it, you just be as accurate as you can. Though it'll be slowing down the work, none of us should be off on our own anyway." 

It was two days later, mid-morning, when the rap at the front door caught Maudie by surprise as she was folding laundry, getting ready to take it upstairs. Stepping to the viewing slit, set among the carvings so the one on the outside would never know they were being overlooked, she saw the one Mali and Elis had described. A tall, well set up man, she thought, dark thick hair, pleasing face, if you discounted that sneer and the smug knowing look.

A low voice came from behind her, "Maudie?"

"Aye, I think it's him, take a look," to Caeide, who had returned with Marisol from making the rounds, doing the last of the early morning chores, caring for the stock, bringing in firewood, along with the morning's pickings from the garden and eggs from the hens and ducks.

She was tired; Peter had had a restless night, replete with nightmares; and she was exasperated with herself, having lost her footing in the woodlot avoiding what she'd thought was probably an adder, and had gone tip over teakettle, garnering more than a few bruises, only to find it was just an oddly shaped branch; she had been hoping for a set down with a cup of coffee and a piece of Maude's good bread, and then a cup of willow bark tea to ease the aches. Still, she thought, that might be best; her current state might just give her the edge she'd need.

"Maudie, best play least-in-sight, and let Peter know to be on guard. I'll hear what he has to say, at least to start," checking to be sure her pencil sharpener was ready at hand, that the revolver near the door was in place, that the other small pistol was in its usual place at her thigh.

"Yes? Have you lost your way? The village is down that path, you probably turned wrong at the lane," she greeted him, coolly, no trace of recognition her face. That didn't please him, it was obvious. The charming smile that he had plastered on his face when the door started to open, well, that disappeared, to be replaced by a slightly reproving frown, before reappearing, though with a visible effort.

"Caeide, lass, you can't have forgotten me! Cadoc Alwyn, you remember. Why, we used to be friends before I left for the War, surely you remember that!" He tried to move forward into the house, but he couldn't do that without running over her, since she was squarely in the way. Behind her, she could hear the faint footsteps, and knew Peter had made his way to the landing. Knowing him as she did, she knew the revolver was loaded, aimed and ready to fire if he thought it necessary.

"Yes, I remember you, Cadoc Alwyn, but friends we never were, nor like to be. Again, have you lost your way? You have no business at Haven that I can imagine. I've no horses to sell right now, and aught else I handle through the market or dealers I have set in place."

"Now, no need to be so harsh, lass, so hasty like. When I got back and heard you were still here, still trying to keep the place going, well, I just thought to myself, Cadoc Alwyn, what that young woman needs is a strong man to help her, take away some of the load it's not fitting for a woman to be carrying in the first place. Especially since I've also heard some London hangers-on have moved in on you, taking advantage. Well, I can take care of that for you as well; I know how to deal with such," smugly self-congratulatory.

Caeide wasn't sure whether the urge to slap him, kick him squarely in the balls, or laugh in his face, which was the strongest. They all had merit, to her way of thinking.

"Get you gone, Cadoc Alwyn. Me and mine, we have no need for you or your 'help'", and she stepped back and started to close the door, only to have him place his foot inside the frame, moving forward so his body was just inside the door, trying to loom over her. She never blinked, just fired the pistol at his boot from inside the holster at her thigh. He yelled and leapt back, blood starting to ooze from the boot where she just might have taken the tip of his big toe.

"Fair crazy you are, woman, firing a pistol like that for no good reason! I'll have the Constable on you," forgetting his aim of getting on her good side.

"Well enough, we'll see what he has to say to a woman defending herself from a man thinking to push his way into her home uninvited, and after being told to begone," and slammed and thrust the bolt on the wood over steel door. He stood outside a short while yelling at the house, but then made his way back down the path, limping and cursing loudly.

Peter stared down at her from the landing, replacing the revolver to its former place inside his waistband, "aye, been reading the Scriptures again, I see. 'A gentle answer turns aside wrath," and grinned a bit at her, "but there's a second part to that, remember, 'but a 'arsh word stirs up anger.'

She looked at him and a grin started to form on her face, 'well, I've been told a time or two that I'm not really good at being subtle," and his laughter filled the room, "yes, I remember that; it's good to know you've not changed in that regard!"

Marisol had been watching from the kitchen, the voices, then the gunshot bringing her to watch with her own revolver in hand. Maudie shook her head, "do we go have a word with Davie Rhys?"

"Let's sit a bit, have coffee and think on that. It's a question it is, do we bring it to his attention or let that bastard to it."

After coffee and a slice of the pear tart Maudie had made the prior afternoon, it was decided that, indeed, they should let Davie Rhys know, but using the radio to bring him to them, rather than they venturing out on that long path, just in case. None of them liked to be running scared, but caution only made sense. Having Alwyn brace whichever two went to the village, or making another try at the house when seeing two had left, neither had much appeal. So Caeide fired up the radio and got Magda, who promised to send Davie; Caeide told her to be sure and warn him Cadoc Alwyn was up to mischief and watch out for him, just in case.

She turned to the others when she was finished, "not that I think he'd be so foolish, but with fools and villains, it's best to take as few chances as possible." She glanced at the clock, "tis almost time for lunch anyway; might as well stay put; I need to get the garden stuff washed and tucked away, the eggs put away. Perhaps Davie will come by the time we need to start on the afternoon and evening chores."

They were just finishing their luncheon, Maude pouring coffee and setting out dessert when Davie arrived. He was welcomed in, sat down and made comfortable. Upon hearing he'd not had luncheon, nor probably would, the way things were going, a plate was filled and sat in front of him, and he ate while he listened to their tale.

"You SHOT him??!" "Well, only his big toe, to the best of my calculations, but still, I did waste a bullet on the rascal, tis true, and have the hole in the front room floor to show for it, along with a bit of darning needed on my skirt pocket," Caeide told him, and sat patiently while Davie Rhys tried, unsuccessfully, to hold in his snickers, then his laughter. He ended up shaking his head, thanking them for the fine luncheon, and taking them up on the offer of coffee and tarte tatine, the pear tart being long gone.

"You do have a way around the kitchen, Maudie, I'll say that!" he said as he finished.

"Well, you have Caeide to thank for the tarte tatine; that's one of her specialties, you know," and a puzzled look came over Peter's face. {"I'll have to ask her about that later,"} remembering the tarte tatine Louie had started making in camp. Somehow the ladies kept him in a constant supply of sweets, made by one or the other, no matter how busy they were otherwise; he'd always fancied them, and they were trying to slowly overcome that residual gauntness he was still carrying.

"So, Davie, any thoughts? Seems like a right bastard, to my way of thinking. We're not asking you to fix this, as such, but more keeping you informed. You know how likely it is for us to be willingly letting 'im lay 'is 'ands on Caeide, or any of us."

Caeide spoke up, "but you know we've a place to run, things to do, stock to take care of. As long as he's up to such tricks, it'll hamper us a great deal. If it were just me, well . . ." and Davie snickered again. Yes, he knew Cadoc Alwyn would by now most likely be taking a long walk off a tall cliff over the sea where the sharks swam if there had only been Caeide herself to consider. "But with the others, I'm hesitant about bringing down trouble, but I'll not stand for them getting hurt, or danger hanging over their heads. What think you?" Ideas were tossed back and forth, but little decided, except to keep a sharp eye out for now.

Davie was at his own dinner table, telling Magda about his day and his visit to Haven. He wasn't too surprised, but certainly not pleased to hear about the goings on in the village while he'd been gone.

"Davie, he may be hunting Caeide, but he's obviously not above making his mark elsewhere at the same time. Gave Madge a rough time at the store earlier, got the call right after you left for Haven. She's told him not to come back, and him making threats right back that she hasn't the right to keep him out. Well, I don't know the ins or outs of that, but she shouldn't have to worry about him trying to grab at her, try to stick his hand where it does not belong, either, or tossing things about if she objects to his ways."

Their dinner was interruped by a message that Cadoc had been to the doctor to get patched up, but had refused to pay, telling the doctor to 'bill that bunch at Haven'; it was to their account he'd been forced to seek the doctor in the first place.

Davie sighed. Personally, he'd felt he had enough to do to keep himself busy BEFORE Cadoc Alwyn returned! Now it seemed as if the blasted man could become a full time job in himself!

It was with a guilty bit of relief he found himself not needing to deal with the problem. Two afternoons later he was summoned to the store, and the sight of Cadoc Alwyn stretched out on the floor, his head at an angle that did not bode well for his continued breathing, well, it wasn't all so surprising. Especially when he took note of those standing there waiting for him, Caeide O'Donnell and Marisol from Haven, Elis and Mali Tanner, Madge, and even his own wife.

Davie Rhys looked around the room, at that body on the floor. He knew something about the scene seemed familiar somehow, something he'd heard, maybe read. Agatha Christie, one of her books, maybe. He sighed, wondering just how he was supposed to write THIS up for his official report. Part of his mind was already occupied with that problem. 'Death by Misadventure' was the most likely box for him to check, but his duty called for him to at least ASK, he thought.

"So, now, who would like to tell me how Cadoc Alwyn met his most untimely, most unfortunate demise?" trying to not hear the faint snicker or two in the background from the gawkers who were crowded around the door.

"Well, Davie, it was like this now . . ." and he listened, and nodded and made notes. Seemingly no one actually KNEW what had happened, other than everybody being there to do a bit of shopping, well, except for Madge of course, her being there to wait on them. Cadoc had come striding in, big as you please, nasty as all get out, being overly familiar to the women and rude, threatening even to Mistress Caeide and Madge, and seeming to think Elis's false leg and being invalided home early made him a coward, or so he said, along with a great deal of other nonsense as well, of course.

Well, somehow in all of the hullabaloo, a pitcher of water was knocked over and spilled, and Cadoc seemingly slipped in the puddle and must have landed just right to snap his neck, and wasn't that just so unfortunate, a handsome sturdy man like that, in his prime, if a bit uncertain in temperment. Not surprisingly, yes, the soles of his boots were damp, and the body was positioned right, {"aye, well, both Caeide and Marisol are downy ones, they'd not let it be otherwise." }

Davie sighed deeply, looked each one in the eye, saw the same bewildered innocence showing there, including his own Magda. {"Yes, 'Death by Misadventure as a result of his own actions'. Doubt any will question that too much; doubt any will much believe it, of course, no one local anyhow, but doubt they'll actually QUESTION it!"}

Later that night, as he was sipping a much needed whiskey, he considered. {"Elis is certainly strong enough; Caeide has the skills to do it, I'm quite sure, and she's far stronger than she looks. I don't know about Marisol having the skill or the strength, but I rather doubt it; surely Mali and Magda don't, nor Madge either. Still . . . I wonder if any of them read that Christie book that came out a few years ago, 'Murder on the Orient Express' I think it was. Though maybe it was one of Dorothy Sayers' books. Heaven knows between Magda and me and the others, we have a goodly number of those, and many others as well. Would be interesting to know, though I'm probably better off not,"} especially as he KNEW there were copies of many of those that came to mind on his own bookshelf.

He did very casually ask his wife, sitting there so calmly knitting by the fireplace, "Magda, how was it that you all were at the store today? It's not your usual day, is it? And don't usually see Elis there, usually at the smithy he is, that time of day," and really did snicker at her ever so innocent face when she replied, "just happenstance, Davie, that's all, I'm sure."

Peter was not quite so complacent when Marisol almost as casually related the events of the day to Maudie and himself.

"Slipped in a bit of spilled water and broke 'is bloody neck??! And you expect Davie Rhys to believe that??!"

"Well, Peter, his own Magda was there as witness, along with Elis and Mali Tanner, and Madge, of course. Perhaps a bit unlikely, I agree, but that IS why they call them accidents, you know," came from a face just as innocent as the one Magda had shown Davie.

Later that night, settled in on that big comfortable bed, his Caeide sitting next to him, as her warm hands massaged that special creme into his skin, groaned in relief as she dug deep to loosen his tight muscles, felt the unexpected strength in those hands accustomed to doing heavy work and her share of fighting as well.

{"Either 'er or Elis, but wouldn't surprise me a bit to find it was 'er,"} and gave a snicker at the thought of Cadoc Alwyn and his threats to take his fists to the Mistress of Haven, or those in her care. {"Bloody bastard was probably lucky 'e only got 'is neck snapped; at least that was quick! She could 'ave twisted 'is balls off first! Kinda surprised she didn't!"}


End file.
